


John Watson's Mystery

by woahitschlo



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Community: sherlockbbc_fic, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-07-15 04:11:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7207277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woahitschlo/pseuds/woahitschlo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evelynn Clarke was a normal girl living in America, but suddenly she found the urge to find her father.  Her father's identity quickly laces her into Sherlock and John's lives and business.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I.

221B. 221B. 221B. Oh god where is this supposed to be? The wind was blowing, causing me to tear up and whipping my curly blonde hair into my eyes. I pulled my coat tighter around my frail frame and rushed to the side of the road, having been over the walking aspect of London. Not two seconds after raising my hand did a taxi pull over. The foreign man looked at me through the clear partition as I slid into the back seat, inhaling an overwhelming scent of teakwood that burned my nostrils, it was seeming that everything in London was strongly scented. The man looked at me, clearly waiting for instructions as I took out the piece of crumpled notebook paper, the blue ink smudged from today’s previous rain. I stuttered what I could make out, “Marylebone, London.. 221 B- Baker Street.”

The man gave me a look, a confused and demeaningly curious look, before turning around and driving into the rush of traffic. I stared at the many people mingling amongst the many stores in the busy capitol. I looked at my iPhone, staring at my empty notifications, unsure if it’s because of my American phone plan or that my friends have already forgotten me. When I told my friends I was packing up and going to London, they were encouraging.. sort of. They didn’t know the real reason behind my journeying, they simply thought I was taking a gap year before enrolling at Harvard next year, but no.. I used all my money to get here and I don’t know how I’m getting back. 

I zoned out, staring at the black screen of my phone before the man raised his voice, showing that we had arrived at the apartment. I pulled out some bills, three that looked like a 5-dollar bill but technically was not. I’m sure I well overpaid for the cab but didn’t want to take the time to figure out the money. The tip of my boot caught on the tread as I stumbled out of the taxi and onto the sidewalk, before I could even look back he sped away and I clenched the strap of my bag tightly. I stared at the door before realizing it was missing the B. I had 221B written down but had forgotten to say it aloud.

“Shit.” I muttered, terrified that with my luck, London numbers would be awry and 221 would be 50 miles away from 221B. I walked a block, silently freaking out that I had forgotten such detail before I caught sight of the blue door with metal numbers and one letter at the end.

A breath of relief flooded my lungs at the same time my heart rate skyrocketed. I was there, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to be anymore. Vibrations were thrumming through my fingers as I gripped the golden knocker and hit it against the door; once.. twice.. three times before I returned my hand to my bag. Time seemed to be moving in slow motion as my heart pulsed in a heavy rhythm, I was biting on my second nail and debating running away when a tiny old woman opened the door. My face flushed through my freckles and I was already building an excuse for my presence.

“Oh! You must be here for Sherlock.” She exclaimed, and before I could reply with a correction she was rushing me in and pulling my coat from my shoulders. The old woman moved at a speedy pace and was beating me to the stair case that she climbed with exceptional ease. Sherlock? Who was Sherlock? The name didn’t spark an idea in my brain but it was too late now, whoever Sherlock was, I was going to meet them. Her boney hand knocked on the door but did not wait for an answer before pushing in. I stood at the frame of the door, feeling like an intruder as I observed the living room before me. Old books in beaten bindings were strewn along the floor, dress shirts and pants lain across the backs of two worn in chairs and ripped pillows resting on a used leather couch. Then I could suddenly hear gorgeous violin. The flow of the notes was mesmerizing as I finally stepped into the apartment and was overwhelmed with the smell of vanilla, honey, and the slightest touch of mint and smoke. I peeked around the corner and caught sight of the old lady at the stove, turning on a kettle.

“Oh, I don’t want tea-“ I tried to blurt, hoping to spare some trouble but she ignored my words and rushed down the hall, towards the violin. She slammed a fist on the door and the violin came to a halt with a deafening screech. I covered my ears and the old lady yelled.

“Sherlock! Client.” Client? A client for what? What have I gotten myself into? 

With a grumble, a man emerged from the room. A very gorgeous man. His hair was long and perfectly shaggy. His bright green eyes made his hair seem like a ridiculously deep brown that teetered on the edge of black. His tall frame towered over the old woman as they talked before he threw an examining glance my way. I pulled at my sweater sleeve and averted my eyes to my shoes.

“You.” He barked, shocking me to a rigid stance, staring at him. I flinched as he rushed to me, grabbing my wrist, bringing my arm up and giving me a quick spin that was elegant like a dance. The spin served as pure examination as he murmured, “No bleeding, no injuries..”

“What? No, I need to see-“ I tried, but tea was shoved into my hands and the man was looking me up and down like something on display. He grabbed my other wrist and pushed up the sleeve, his fingers pressing into my pale skin.

“Elevated pulse, why’re you so frightened?”

“I’m not, I’m trying to find someone!” I nearly shouted, frustrated by the lack of attention being paid. The man turned to me, pulled his red robe tighter around him and tied the belt into a knot.

“And who might that be, little girl?” The man, Sherlock I presume, said. I pulled at my collar before muttering.

“John Watson, I thought he lived-“

The man’s face changed and he looked at me with a new curiosity, “Why?”

“He’s my father.”


	2. II.

There was a crash in the kitchen that made me jolt; the old woman had dropped her tea and Sherlock was staring at me with great zeal, before yelling.

“Mrs. Hudson you will clean that!” His deep, smooth, voice carried well and rang in my ears as I set my tea down and pulled out my phone to check for something, anything, but of course there was nothing. “..How strange, I should’ve known!” He exclaimed with annoyance.

“Sherlock even you had no way of knowing that!” Mrs. Hudson tried to protest but he was jumping onto the coffee table, surprisingly not hitting his head as he kicked off a book with his foot and pulled at his hair. He was murmuring to himself, too quiet for me to hear as he spun around on the table before jumping off and rushing over to observe me. Sherlock was mumbling, something about my hair, the way I stand, my eyebrows and my natural disapproving frown. 

“Look, if you don’t know where he is, I’ll go.” I said disappointed with the lack of John Watson in my vision. I grabbed my phone, mumbled a ‘thanks for the tea’ and reached for the door handle but was halted by the click of a gun. I turned slowly, and sure enough, Sherlock was holding a gun in my direction.

“Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson screamed and I flinched deeply, terrified of what mess had I just put myself into. 

“You can’t go. You’re my new favorite secret.” He said with a disgusting amount of sick enjoyment. There was a lump in my throat and I was trying to imagine what sort of horrors were coming my way. “I will take you to John Watson.”

“Really?” I said, a bit too excitedly as I released the door handle and moved towards him. He dropped the gun, making me jump at his lack of caution. 

“Yes. Let’s go.” Sherlock said, rushing back to his room and coming out, not two minutes later, dressed and preened, pulling me down the stairs, throwing my jacket into my face as he pulled on a black trench coat and wrapped a blue scarf around his neck. I chuckled quietly as he slipped on a goofy hat with multiple bills, one on the front and one on the back. He gave me a look that shut me up and pulled me out the door, hailed a taxi and stuffed me in. 

He hollered out an address and I pulled out my phone, only to have him take it from me and slip it into his pocket. 

“We are doing important things, your friends who don’t care, don’t matter.” He spoke. I was starting to realize he said what he thought and didn’t care who heard nor how they felt. It wasn’t a totally horrible thing but god was it stressful.

The taxi stopped abruptly outside a building in the middle of downtown London, I think. By the time I slowly clambered out of the taxi Sherlock was stepping inside. I rushed to catch up to him, tripping in my boots as I grabbed onto his sleeve. He pulled me into an elevator, and hit the button for the top floor. The doors opened with a ding and he was still dragging me right behind him. The lady at the admissions desk looked up, saw Sherlock, and didn’t bother saying a word as he rushed through many cubicles to the back of the room. He began banging on a door and shoving his way in.

A man with greying hair and a stocky build was sat behind the desk, biting on his nail before he noticed Sherlock and stood with a smile. He tried for a hug but Sherlock ignored him and started speaking;

“Greg Lestrade, meet John Watson’s daughter.” Sherlock said with a glowing pride, gesturing to me with his hands as I stepped into the office. Greg’s eyes went wide and he looked at me with a laughing grin.

“What are you on about Sherlock?” He said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Sherlock, I thought you were taking me to John.” I groaned.

“And she’s American! How could she be his daughter?” Greg exhaled, reaching past Sherlock and closing the office door.

“1998. John Hamish Watson is on his way back from Afghanistan when his plane ticket is incorrect. He is flown to New England and forced to lay over for three days. She must have been conceived then.” He said loudly and proudly. The new information made me blush at the thought that I was the product of a simple one night stand. I figured it was something like that but I never got the chance to really talk about my dad with my mother.

“Well, why have you brought her here?” Lestrade said with a raised eyebrow, I was wondering the same thing. It seemed that Sherlock was simply flaunting me as if I was a mistake that was to be celebrated.

“Seriously. I just want to meet John.” I said.

“What’s your name?” He asked, ignoring my pleas to simply see John Watson.

“Evelynn Clarke.”

“Mother’s?”

“Jamie Clarke. What does this-“ I halfway said before Sherlock raised his hand and shushed me, he went silent. Lestrade said nothing so neither did I, Sherlock’s eyes flickered back and forth and he tapped his fingers on his leg. 

“He’s never mentioned her.. Can you look her up?” Sherlock asked but quickly answered his own question with; “No, she’s American, she won’t be in your system.” I rolled my eyes, grabbing my coat and stomping down the floor, past the cubicles and square to the elevator. If this Sherlock fellow is simply here to waste my time, I won’t be having it. I’ll go find the nearest god damn phone book and call John Watson myself if that’s the best option. The doors opened with a ring and I stepped inside, hitting the lobby button and tapping my fingers against my leg. I pulled out my phone, Sherlock had returned it once we'd gotten into the elevator, looking at it before remembering that I have no service and no wifi.

The doors opened again, looking at my feet as I tried to step out but running straight into somebody else; honey, vanilla, mint and smoke. Sherlock. Without looking up, I pushed past him.

“And where do you think you’re going?” He asked loudly, making me flinch as his strong voice gathered others' attention.

“To find my stupid dad!” I shouted, surprising myself at the frustration and desperation in my voice. Sherlock rolled his eyes at me and extended a hand.

“Stop being dramatic. I’ll take you to him now.”


	3. III.

My head was pounding from a headache brought on by my immense nerves. I don’t know what I expected, what kind of reaction I was assuming from John. He doesn’t know I exist, he doesn’t understand that he actually has had a daughter for 18 years. I don’t know his situation and I surely don’t understand his affiliation with this freak.

Sherlock paid for the second taxi, which drove us to John’s house. Sherlock didn’t bother looking up from his phone on the ride there, he didn’t acknowledge me at all really. Sherlock was really just showing me off like a trophy and I did not like the feeling. I wouldn’t have paired up with him if I didn’t have to, but I don’t think I could’ve found John Watson by myself.

About half an hour later we were freed of the heated taxi, Sherlock threw some bills the man’s way and began dragging me out the car door. I tried to dig my feet into the ground where I stood, needing some time to breathe and think about what I was doing, but Sherlock’s strength caught my balance and pulled me right along side him to the door step.

I mentally begged him not to knock but his gloved fist came down hard on the door a few times, the wait was agonizing. I was tapping my shoe, at least for a moment before Sherlock shot me a threatening look and shut me up.

Then someone answered the door, snapping my head to attention I saw a woman. Her hair cut to her jaw and a light blonde, and her face soft and nice.

“Hi Mary.” That was the only thing Sherlock said before barging in, pulling me right behind him. “Is John home?”

“Yes, he’s in the garden.” She said, not even questioning the odd behavior.

We came to a glass door that Sherlock threw open and there he was.

John Watson. We had the same hair, almost the exact same height.

“Sherlock, who’s this?” John said, looking me up and down with a confused look. He sipped on his tea and flexed his brow, “A client?”

“Oh even better, John.” Sherlock said with a bit too much excitement in his voice.

“Better?” John said, looking at me once again.

“She’s your daughter.” Sherlock grinned, nearly jumping with joy it seemed as tea dribbled out of John’s mouth. John stayed silent, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked between Sherlock and I quizzically. Sherlock was brightly grinning still, until John began to chuckle under his breath. The chuckle grew it a great fit of laughter, John doubling over and wiping away fake tears.

“You almost had me there, Sherlock.” He sighed, relieved. “Seriously, who is this girl?”

“John, I’m serious-“ Sherlock started, annoyed that John had so easily assumed Sherlock’s words to be a joke.

“Evelynn Clarke.” I said, extending my hand to John’s. John looked back at Sherlock and took my hand nervously. “I believe you knocked my mother, Jamie Clarke, up in 1998 in New England.” I said, flashing John a sweet smile as his eyes went wide, his tea fell to the ground, he dropped my hand and turned to Sherlock.

“Ha! I told you-“ Sherlock gloated before John delivered a heavy punch right to his sharp jaw. Sherlock’s head snapped to the side and I jumped at John’s sudden expression of anger. Sherlock seemed to brush off the violent action as if he knew he had it coming. My eyes were stuck wide, my mouth in the form of a shocked gasp. Sherlock smirked, knowing he hit a nerve, and rubbed at his jaw.

“Sherlock, if this a fucking joke..” John trailed off, starting an argument with Sherlock as I fished around in my bag, finally finding the paper I had been looking for.

“Here!” I shouted, interrupting their shenanigans, thrusting the old wrinkled birth certificate into John’s hands. “September 9th, 1998.”

John’s eyes looked over the paper for several minutes as me and Sherlock shared silent glances. I was starting to sweat nervously when John finally spoke. 

“Fucking hell… She named you after me?” He laughed, but I could tell it was a super nervous laugh. One that signals a person is on the verge of fainting from an overdose of knowledge.

“Yeah.. Evelynn John Clarke. A lot of my friends liked to call me Johnny-Eve, but now I tell people to call me Evie.” I spoke quietly, unsure of where to go from here. Now I had met John Watson. I had met my father and now I didn’t even know what to to do with the information. I couldn’t go home and tell my mother, nor my friends because it’s not like they’d really care. I was now standing in front of my father with nothing to say and nothing to do. Sherlock had taken me to him, as he said he would, but where from here?

“Does Mary know?” John asked Sherlock with a slightly panicked voice. 

Sherlock shook his head, looking me up and down for the 100th time today. “I figured you wouldn’t want her knowing since you already have another daughter on the way.”

John was shaking his head and rubbing at his jaw, they both ignored my presence, which I was okay with since I didn’t know what I’d say if given the chance. My heart thrummed and I resisted the intense urge to bite my nails. I was really wishing I was home, wishing I was at a party celebrating my acceptation to Harvard, not standing in my father’s backyard forcing his world to cave in.

“Well..” John spoke quietly, looking behind himself to check for Mary I suppose. “What are we going to do with her?”

Sherlock smiled a devious grin. I blushed harshly, slightly afraid of his next words, biting on my nails competitively. John was tapping his foot like a stressed mother in the line at a grocery store. His brows drawn and himself staring right at Sherlock. 

Sherlock looked at John and then to me, “I want to keep her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for a dull and late chapter, was in Europe for a few weeks. Thanks for your patience! xx


	4. IV.

Keeping me… That was a horribly strange way to put it. Keeping me meant I got Sherlock’s spare bedroom, John’s old one. This was the only room that didn’t smell of smoke and mints, it was quaint but I wasn’t one to judge as Sherlock was being very generous. John must’ve cleaned it out really well because it looked like a brand new bedroom essentially. I walked over to the bed, throwing my small carry on luggage onto it and resting next to it. 

The bed was comfortable, worn in to the perfect point. I rubbed at my face, trying to revive some life back into my bones so I could stand and get organized. But the bed was so comfortable and I was so worn out. I could hear John and Sherlock talking loudly, probably arguing about me. I rubbed at my eyes and with pure brutal force, sat up. I kicked my shoes off and moved my luggage to the floor, standing slowly and creeping to the door. The door opened with satisfying silence, allowing me to creep down the hallway and nearly into the bathroom before Sherlock called for me, telling me to come to the living room. I walked slowly and nervously, afraid he was going to insist I leave. 

“Yes?” I spoke quietly, walking slowly towards the two, both were giving me parent stares.

“Are you hungry?” John asked. “Do you need anything?” 

“Oh, John stop acting like her Dad.” Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Well I am her Dad!” John argued.

“Barely, John. Barely.” Sherlock grinned as John grimaced. 

“I am kinda hungry.. is there a restaurant or something near by? I have money.” I asked, my thumb rubbing over the 50 euro note in my pocket. What would British food taste like? Hopefully my American tastebuds would withstand new flavors.

“Yeah there’s one downstairs, to the left, or there’s a small market on the corner.” John said, motioning to the door. I nodded, going back to my room and slipping on my shoes. I was about to leave when John spoke again, “Wait, you can’t go alone.”

“Why not?” I raised and eyebrow, pulling the door open. 

“You just can’t,” He said, giving Sherlock a look, and following me out the door and down the stairs. He slipped on his jacket and followed me outside, I decided to go to the market if I was going to be staying with Sherlock for a while, and Sherlock did not seem like the type to keep good food in stock.

The market was small but rather nice, I grabbed some fruits, eggs, and some waters to drink. I was overjoyed to find ramen packets, and quickly bought two boxes full. John loomed about in a cloud of awkward silence. The cashier quickly rung up my things and gave me my change. The walk back was settling, the air in London was cool and felt amazing.

“Listen, Evelynn-“

“Evie.” I corrected.

“Fine. Evie.. I’m sorry..”

“For what?”

“Not being there I guess? For missing all your little milestones?”

We were outside the flat now, I stopped and looked at John, resting my hand on his shoulder reassuringly. “John, we don’t need to have this talk. I understand that you weren’t aware of my existence and such. It’s okay.” I opened the door and started walking up.

“But-“

“John, I promise that I’m okay.”

He nodded sternly, “Very well then.”

We walked back into the flat, the kitchen cleaned and the living room tidied, must’ve been Mrs. Hudson because Sherlock was sitting in his chair reading. I sat the bag down and started putting the groceries into the fridge, jumping with a screech at the eyeballs being kept in a tupperware container.

“Sherlock!!” I squeaked.

“Ignore them.” They both said in unison.

I resisted the urge to vomit, putting my things on a different shelf. Once everything was put away, I threw away the plastic bag and came back into the living room. John was gone and Sherlock was placing nicotine patches on his arm.

“I think you’re only supposed to use one..” I chimed.

“One is for the mundane.”

“Do I need to pay rent? I will I mean, I just need to find a job first-“

“No. No rent needed, no job needed. I can easily provide.”

“Yes, but I don’t want you to have to care for me.”

“I don’t have to do anything, I’m simply just doing it.” Sherlock replied and I knew that was the last of that argument and that there’d be no point in me saying otherwise.

“Okay.. Goodnight Sherlock.”

“Goodnight Evie.”


	5. V.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter sucked and I really am aware that it did. Sorry, sort of a boring filler!

A few days came and went with no great events. Sherlock helped me figure out a new phone plan, I got a part time job at the little food stop next door, and John kinda ignored my being. Sherlock was the quiet sort, he could sit staring out the window for hours and hours on end. He let me look through his books but I could tell he didn’t like me touching them for long so I left them alone. Lots of them were old with wrinkled, yellowing, pages and fraying binds. They were the kind you didn’t read, you just admire how long they’ve been existing.

I don’t know what I expected from John, it’s not like I want him to take me to a father-daughter dance, but he was so completely absent it’s like we hadn’t met. But I kept quiet, as he does have a new child on the way and there’s nothing for me to do with him. Sherlock was watchful, when I made dinner, a job we both silently agreed was mine, he would simply stand in the door of the kitchen and watch me, or sit in his chair and pretend he was reading instead of watching, but we both knew that wasn’t the case.

Clients, I had learned, were people with extreme problems that only Sherlock could solve. His talents were ridiculously impressive and they never left me bored. I loved listening to him deduct things in a matter of seconds and shatter someone’s façade. People who would lie to him would soon find themselves exposed and embarrassed by his ability, it was truly entertaining.

One night while I was cooking dinner, a simple salad from the market with baked chicken, I felt his eyes leave me and I turned my head just in time to see his coat tails disappear out the door. I ate alone and put the rest in the fridge, I tried to stay up to wait for sherlock but fell asleep in a chair. I was woken up by Sherlock creeping in and flicking the light on. I opened my eyes to find him with a flourishing black eye and a bloody nose. He cracked me a whacky smile and disappeared into the bathroom to clean himself. He came out as I was dozing back off in the chair.

“Oooh, no we don’t.” He said quietly, scooping his arms beneath my shoulders and guiding, basically carrying, me back to my room. “Evelynn, don’t you dare fall asleep.” He chuckled, I laughed quietly, trying to stand and slump back to my bed. I made it slowly, falling onto the bed, not even bothering to get under the covers. 

When I woke up I was under the covers. I tried going back to sleep but never could find the right rhythm. So I rolled over and climbed out of the bed, slipping an over-sized knit sweater over my head and pulling on some black skinny jeans, I brushed my fingers through my hair and decided that was enough effort.

Sherlock was sitting in his chair, shocking. His head was leaned back, eyes closed, and a book folded neatly in his lap. I microwaved a breakfast sandwich and ate it in the living room, sitting in the chair across from Sherlock, eyeing him unwaveringly.

“Please stop staring.” Sherlock spoke, causing me to giggle silently.

“Fine.” I shrugged. “What time is it?” 

“8:56 AM.” He yawned. “I’ve been counting the minutes since 3 AM.”

“Why would you do something so boring?” I asked past a bite of sandwich, covering my mouth. Sherlock sighed and opened his eyes, leaning forward and snatching the sandwich off my plate. I tilted my head, rolling my eyes.

“What your little mundane mind finds boring, I find it easy to do. It keeps me in focus in my mind palace. If I were to make you count something so large, you would only be able to think about anything but counting.”

I pretend to ponder on his words, but then stand. Grabbing my sandwich back, taking a bite, then sitting it back on the plate. “I have to go to work.”

 

Work was painfully boring for the first two hours, just serving people, taking orders, and making change. I was sure it would simply be another uneventful day when a certain curly-haired boy pulled at my attention harshly. He was painfully gorgeous, his eyes were hidden behind retro rounded glasses and a mop of light brown curly hair. His cheekbones were cut with prismatic edges. He was tall, very very tall. A knit sweater was rolled to his elbows and a book of french poetry grasped in his hand. He looked so perfect, picture perfect, he’s a boy people blog about. I poured his latte into a cup, adding the steamed milk with caution. My hands shook nervously as I paced to him. I sat the drink down with a bit too much force, myself jumping as he did.

“Sorry..” I whimpered, my cheeks flushing red with embarrassment.

The boy looked up, staring into my eyes and I could finally see past the glasses. Behind the thick lenses were golden-chocolatey eyes that made my knees go weak. He smiled, revealing charmingly crooked teeth.

“Don’t worry about it… Evie.” He said, glancing down to my name tag. My name sounded elegant in his voice and accent, my heart skipping a beat as I scurried back to the counter.

As my shift ended, the boy scooped up his books and satchel, leaving right before me. I waltzed around the cafe, picking up my tips. When I got to where the boy had been sitting there was a 20 pound note waiting. I couldn’t believe the large tip, as I picked it up a small piece of paper slipped out.

I looked around before turning it over, in a boyishly messy scrawl said Hello, Evie. -Oliver

I chuckled quietly, hurrying to finish closing the shop, the boy fresh in my mind.


	6. VI.

Sherlock must’ve smelled the giddiness on me when I stepped through the door. I closed the door behind me and he perked up like a pup. I tried to stop smiling as I thumbed over the note in my pocket, picturing the boy sitting there, reading over his french poetry. I grabbed my sandwich from my bag, walking over to Sherlock to give him his from the cafe. Instead of grabbing onto the sandwich, he placed his hand on my wrist, making me jump.

“Elevated pulse, fresh eyes, red cheeks..” He muttered, cocking his head to the side as he stared at me. “Who’d you meet?”

I tried to roll my eyes and walk away but Sherlock wouldn’t let that happen. 

“I will tell your father.” Sherlock tried to say in a threatening tone but we both knew it was a weak attempt. I shook off his hand and tossed his wrapped sandwich into his lap. I grabbed my laptop and sat down in the chair across from Sherlock. Sherlock had informed me that it used to be John’s chair, I thought it was quite the coincidence. The chair was soft, and worn in perfectly, the red, floral, pattern had a nice vintage tone. I grabbed the blanket off the back and wrapped it around me, going onto Facebook. I took a bite of my sandwich, looking over to Sherlock. His sandwich lay untouched, his eyes trained on me.

“It was a boy, Sherlock. Just a boy.” I said past a mouth-full of food, trying to waver his attention. He leaned forward, elbows to his knees and pressed his hands together. I knew I had just uncorked a bottle full of questions. Sherlock asked for his name and everything I could remember about him. He was disappointed with my lack of information.

“Oh for Christ’s sake Evelynn! Take a picture next time!” Sherlock said exasperated. Not knowing everything about the boy was clearly taxing his mental state. He unwrapped his sandwich and took an angry bite. I rolled my eyes and finished off my sandwich. Oliver. It was a cute name that was ringing in my ears, along with his voice saying mine.

“C’mon Sherlock, you’re acting like how John should be.” I laughed, trying to cue that it wasn’t a serious, nor deep, remark. I crumbled up my sandwich wrapper and looked at Sherlock.

“You keep sending all these subliminal messages about John, Evelynn.” Sherlock said, finally giving up on on Oliver.

“Evie.” I quipped, ignoring his remark.

 

The next time I encountered Oliver, he was dinging the bell next to the register behind my back, making me jump. I clenched my fist to keep from dropping my own coffee as I turned towards the front. I felt my ears heat up at the sight of him.

“Sorry, Evie.” He smiled. There were those teeth again and that gorgeous grin. I wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans, pushing the stray hairs from my ponytail out of my face, trying to pull my act together before spitting out a sentence.

“Oh, you’re fine.” I choked out, tapping my fingers against the register. “What can I get you today?”

He smiled again and my knees wobbled. “May I have a roasted tomato panini, an espresso, and.. your number.”

“Yeah, your total is- wait. What?” My head snapping to attention, my cheeks flushing.

He held his hand to his head in the ‘cellphone’ gesture. “Your number, your digits, your cellular device code, love.” He said sarcastically, giving me a devilish grin. My hands trembled as I popped the cash register open to get his change.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I finally spoke whilst giving him his money. “Ah.. yes, yeah, sure!” I said, over-excited.

“Perfect.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a little note and a pen. He had clearly premeditated this. My hands were a little shaky as I tried to scribble down my number. Today his outfit expressed more of a boyish tone. Not as perfected, just a baseball tee with a black jacket, with some plain jeans and sneakers. He took the note, winked at me, and sat down at a table near the street, on the front of the cafe. 

Excitement was thrumming through my veins as I pieced his panini together and poured a little espresso. I was slightly ashamed of the new found pep in my step. One simple boy asking for my number had awkwardly changed my perspective of the day. I sat down his items, this time without too much force and just the right amount of smoothness. He thanked me and I hurried off. The day seemed to fly by and in a blink I was on my bed in my room, staring helplessly at my phone, waiting for a message.

I changed into some pajama shorts and an oversized shirt, Sherlock liked to keep the apartment warm so the only way I could survive was wearing shorts at almost all times. Sherlock arrived as I poured myself a cup of coffee, pouring in copious amounts of sugar and creamer.

“Hi, Sherlock.” I smiled, but he held up his hand to shush me. I knew not to talk when he was like this, he was deep in thought, probably refracting memories in his mind in a matter of seconds. I almost held my breath, trying to be quite, when my phone dinged from a message. Sherlock snatched it up angrily, “Sherlock!”

“Who’s Oliver? Is that the boy?” Sherlock unlocked my phone and opened my messages, holding the phone right out of my reach. He turned from me as I tried to peak around him. Sherlock typed quickly, asking for a selfie. I prayed silently that he wouldn’t reply, but my phone dinged again and there was a lovely picture of Oliver. My god he was beautiful. Sherlock cocked his head, observing the picture quickly before abruptly handing me my phone.

“Evelynn, invite him to dinner.”


	7. VII.

Before I knew it, it was friday night and Oliver was sitting in my kitchen at the wooden table. The table has x’s, remnants of spray paint, and scratches from throwing knives and all the shenanigans Sherlock gets up to. Oliver was constantly calmed down, almost like he was buzzed. He tapped his fingers on the table and watched me stir some pasta in a pot while simultaneously trying to cube chicken. His presence was looming, even though whenever we were together he was only ever calm and sweet, his presence intimidated me and kept me on edge.

His hand enclosed around my arm above my elbow, causing me to flinch in surprise. “Chill out, Eves.” He had even created a nickname from my nickname. His hands were long and his knuckles thick. He ran his coarse palm down my forearm and grabbed the wooden spoon from my hand. “I’ll stir, you cut.” He kissed my cheek and nudged me out of the way.

I pushed the butterflies down my stomach and finished cutting the chicken. My breath was stuck in my throat as I cooked and seasoned the chicken. As I started putting the food in dishes the door slammed and Sherlock was home. So was John. Sherlock’s face popped into a grin and his eyes crinkled. “Ah! Mr. Oliver Thomas!” Sherlock exclaimed, extending his hand to Oliver.

John watched their exchange, looking at me with sorry-eyes. We hadn’t talked since the day we met, and I won’t lie and say my feelings weren’t a bit damaged. I hated that my father was still a stranger to me, but I pushed the anger aside and gave him my best smile. John shook his hand too, simply mumbling an, “Oliver.” As Oliver mumbled a, “Sir.”

We had barely sat down at the table when Sherlock started knit-picking Oliver’s life through, milestone by milestone. I grabbed Oliver’s hand under the table and gave it a reassuring squeeze, well aware he was in for an interrogation. I tried to ignore the questions, shoveling food into my mouth to avoid talking. I picked up a few about Oliver’s bloodlines, ancestors, schooling, favorite foods, pass-time activities, even some about the way he brushes his teeth. Sherlock’s deductions produced nothing sobering, a few silly facts and maybe an embarrassing moment or two.

Finally, Sherlock began to actually eat his food, giving me a chance to breathe. John looked at me again, his eyebrows furrowed a bit angrily. Oliver looked to me and gave me a grin. His smile forced every muscle in my body to relax. Sherlock cleaned his plate and so did Oliver, I grabbed them and placed them in the sink. John had been toying with his food more than eating it, so when we all moved into the living room, I left his plate alone.

Oliver sat in John’s old chair, I sat on the arm rest. Sherlock sat in his chair with one leg crossed over the other and a hand on his chin. John stood behind Sherlock, eyeing Oliver with a grimace. 

 

After hours of Oliver questioning Sherlock and Sherlock questioning Oliver, Sherlock stopped. He simply stopped, and I had never felt so relieved. I grabbed Oliver’s hand and pulled him back into my room. I closed the door and leaned into his chest.

“Thank you so much for putting up with that.” I breathed. One breath had never felt so relaxing. His cologne was intoxicating and I buried my head into his chest reflexively. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and walked me back to my bed. I sat down and he sat down beside me, pulling me onto the bed and into his chest. 

“May I?” He asked, reaching for my macbook as I nodded, opening it and putting on some random TV show stream. Oliver kissed my nose, and I kissed his jaw. Looking into his eyes gave my heart palpations and my body chills. Before I registered the moment, we were kissing. Our first real kiss, with sparks and lip-on-lip action. I tangled my hand in his curly hair, kissing him harder. Kissing Oliver was like jumping in the deep end of a pool; it’s cold, chilling, dark, and you can feel yourself running out of breath, but you’re not sure you want to come up for air.

The kiss came to an abrupt halt when my bedroom door burst open, Sherlock’s figure in the doorway. “This door stays open; I haven’t decided if I want you two procreating yet.”


	8. VIII.

Sherlock was in love. So strongly in love..

With my boyfriend. I swear Sherlock was head over heels for Oliver. He loved listening to Oliver’s questions and stories and ideas. Oliver was a brilliant boy, nothing short of genius. Oliver and I had been together for around 2 months, but Sherlock made it seem like 2 years. He welcomed Oliver with ease, he liked to play mind games back and forth with Oliver. Of course, Sherlock won but Oliver did make him work for it. I liked that they got along, Sherlock was like a father-figure right now, and his immense approval of Oliver calmed me down.

After another bi-weekly round of mind games, along with a board game for fun, I tugged on Oliver’s hand and pulled him back to my room. Oliver was a sweet and gentle soul, he always kissed my forehead when he thought I was being rather quiet and squeezed my hand to make sure I didn’t feel left out. I knew these interactions with Sherlock helped Sherlock express himself.

Sherlock Holmes lived for intensity and mind games, usually his overwhelmingly weird cases forced him to be that way, but Sherlock hadn’t had a good strong case in months. Sherlock would leave with a bump in the night and return frustrated with a lack of excitement.

I kissed Oliver and hugged him tight, “I can never thank you enough for putting up with Sherlock.” I smiled. Oliver shook his head and kissed my nose, telling me how he genuinely liked the time he spent with Sherlock. I sat back onto my bed and pulled Oliver down next to me, turning on a movie for white-noise but he quickly curled up against me like a cat and nuzzled his way into the crook of my neck. I always thought this position looked intensely uncomfortable in movies, but the presence and the wholeness of it was the actual comfort of it. The lack of sexuality but with all the intimacy would forever amaze me.

Before I knew it, Oliver dozed off. His mother loved me, so she was very flexible with Oliver and I. I picked up Oliver’s phone and opened it to his texts, scrolling to his mother’s contact and typing a quick message. “This is Evelynn, Oliver has just dozed off, do you want me to send him home or can he stay?” Moments later the was a ding with a simple text, giving permission for Oliver to stay. Oliver made it easier to sleep, he kept away looming sadness and discomfort. I looked down at Oliver, with fluttering dark brown lashes fanning his cheeks, he had a speckle of dots. Beautiful constellations of freckles covering his face.

I snuggled up to him and fell asleep to. Deeply and peacefully asleep.

That didn’t last for long.

There was a pounding on the door. A banging so loud that I could hear it in my room with the door shut. i jolted from bed and ran to the door as I hear John screaming “Sherlock!” My heart jumped as Sherlock stumbled from his room just as I did and bolted for the door. The desperation and need in John’s voice sent horrifying chills up my spine and goosebumps flourishing down my arms. Oliver grabbed onto my shoulders and guided my frozen body to the living room. 

Sherlock unbolted the door and in fell John. John crashed to his knees just as a cough of blood flew from his mouth and all over Sherlock’s white shirt. I screamed in horror as I noticed the gash in John’s side that his hand was clamped over, applying pressure to the stop the bleeding.

“Evelynn get me that rag.” Sherlock said in a rushed tone. But I was stuck. I was frozen, shocked into stillness. Sherlock looked at my paralyzed body and yelled again, “Oliver get me that fucking towel!”

Oliver bolted for the towel and dropped to his knees next to Sherlock, John sputtered and groaned in pain as Oliver replaced John’s hands with his own and held to the wound. My world was spinning, my mind shutting down. 

“John. John. Who did this?” Sherlock asked, and for the first time, his voice was frantic.

John threw down a small box, it’s lid popping off and it was filled to the brink with letters. Sherlock dumped them out, thumbing through them, leaving bloody prints amongst everyone. “John, what are these?”

Oliver looked back at me and his eyes were desperate and begging for help, but I couldn’t help but look at the letters. Everything shifted in slow-motion. Blood spurted past John’s lips, Oliver flinched and Sherlock didn’t care. John’s eyes were hazed, the white towel was now almost entirely a pinkish red. 

“They started-“ John groaned in pain, clenching his eyes shut as he struggled to breathe. “They started the day she got here.”

“Who?” Sherlock asked but John was wincing in pain and struggling for a breath. “John who? Who are you talking about?!”

“Me.” I whispered, quiet like a mouse. Oliver and Sherlock’s heads snapped to my attention. “It’s because of me.”


End file.
